Nerd Bird and Car Demon
by athenasdragon
Summary: After the Apocawasn't, Crowley gets pulled back to Hell for some punishment and Aziraphale has to deal with the aftermath. The usual emotional trauma results. Happy ending. WARNING: graphic depiction of injury. (Title suggested by a friend and too accurate to pass up.)
1. Chapter 1

**WARNINGS:** Graphic depiction of injury, mentions of torture

 **A/N:** It would appear that this fandom peaked in about 2006, but hopefully there are still a few of you around to read this! Please let me know what you think in a review. The second chapter is already written and the third is almost done, so you (hopefully) won't have to worry about my usual erratic update schedule.

Enjoy! (And I'm sorry)

* * *

Aziraphale didn't know what he thought would happen after the Apocalypse.

He and Crowley rode in the newly-restored Bentley back to his newly-restored (if not quite to its original condition) book shop. They barely spoke. It seemed the stress of the whole affair had finally caught up with them; each had been forced to call on powers they hadn't known they possessed, after all, and it takes a hell—or a heaven—of a lot of work to prevent the Antichrist from tearing apart the Earth. This in itself wasn't too concerning.

No, what struck him as odd was when Crowley pulled to a stop at the curb in front of his shop (he had been driving quite prudently, too, Aziraphale noted with surprise) and snapped his fingers to open just the passenger side door.

The angel stared. "Aren't you coming in?"

"Why would I?"

"Well," he sputtered, "don't you want a drink?" Crowley always wanted a drink. It was just one of those irrefutable facts of the universe, like the laws of physics and hot chocolate tasting better when it was snowing. Surely that would be especially true after the past week's events.

"No, actually, I should be getting back." Something about the demon's manner was off. Maybe it was the way he kept two hands rigidly on the steering wheel, even when his charred sunglasses began sliding down his nose.

Aziraphale reluctantly exited the car. He had been rather enjoying their teamwork of late, and he couldn't deny that Crowley's casual dismissal stung. "Back to where? Hell? Surely not after all the—"

"No, no no no. No." Crowley cut over him. "Just… back to my apartment. You know. The plants."

"Oh."

And just like that he drove off, leaving the battered angel standing on the sidewalk.

"Well," Aziraphale muttered to himself, " _I_ need a drink."

* * *

It was two months before he saw Crowley again.

Strangely enthused by the flow of bibliophile humans who seemed so _interested_ in his thoughts on books, Aziraphale had decided to keep his shop habitable for customers. Thus this particular evening, which also brought the first big storm of autumn, found him balanced on a sturdy stepladder, dusting.

There was a _BANG_ outside the shuttered windows which nearly startled him off-balance. It was strangely similar to the noise one hears when there is suddenly something where before there was nothing. Then again, it could have been a stray cat knocking the lids off some bins.

This theory was shortly disproved when the door was flung open to reveal an extremely soggy demon.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale exclaimed.

Crowley said nothing, but instead crumpled to the floor.

The angel felt an uncharacteristic stab of panic as he jumped from the ladder to examine his friend. Crowley's expensive, well-tailored suit was shredded and scorched. Two long slits down the back looked like the sort left by the sudden appearance of a very large set of wings. Stripes of welts covered what Aziraphale could see of his friend's hands and wrists and even snaked up his neck to his jaw. The ever-present sunglasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving the demon's yellow eyes exposed as they rolled back into his head.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said with more urgency, pulling the demon onto his back. "Crowley, what happened?"

Crowley sat up with a yelp. Finally his wide, slit-pupiled eyes focused on Aziraphale and he gathered a fistful of the angel's shirt. "Hell—punissshment for—for Hassstor and Ligur—Adam—" His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "Wings! They—my wingsss—Azssiraphale—" At this point words failed him and he could only gape at the angel. His forked tongue writhed, serpentine.

"Crowley, your wings? What happened to your wings? What did they do?"

Clutching the angel with both hands now, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. After a few seconds of intense effort his wings sprang into being.

Or, wing.

One steel-grey feathered appendage dangled at an odd angle from the right side of Crowley's back. His left side sported a bloody stump where the wing had been torn as though by a careless child playing with a dragonfly.

Aziraphale's eyes blazed with celestial fire fueled by intense, righteous rage. "YOUR SIDE DID THIS TO YOU?" he demanded, his speech carrying the weight of a thousand voices and his clothing whipped by an otherwise invisible wind. "THIS IS BARBARIC."

Crowley, in contrast, only sank further towards the floor. He squinted up at the divine light radiating from his friend. "Please," he begged softly, and the sight flooded Aziraphale with sorrow and fright. His fierce halo faded as Crowley clawed his way towards full consciousness. "Please. Help me." It was the first coherent thing he had said.

Swallowing hard, the angel gathered the demon in his arms. "I will."

* * *

This turned out to be even more difficult than originally anticipated.

First came the unpleasant task of finishing what had already been done: pulling shards of shattered bone from the wound, trimming tissue, and so on. This was accomplished by draping Crowley rather haphazardly over a foot stool with access to a wide range of alcohol. Even in his thoroughly drunk state, he groaned each time Aziraphale so much as looked at his injury. It didn't help that his other wing would flick out and send books and furniture flying with every twinge of pain.

"All right," Aziraphale finally panted, rocking back onto his heels. His sweater was stained with blackish blood up to the elbows. "That's the bad bit done. You can sober up now while I bandage it."

"No," Crowley said thickly. When he stood to fetch more supplies Aziraphale had to agree with him; the demon was shaking with the effort of staying conscious. His heart clenched.

"I'll be back in a second. Hold on, my dear."

Crowley grunted and brought a bottle unsteadily to his lips. By the time Aziraphale returned, arms full of bandages, he had nearly drained it. The angel gestured and Crowley's shirt disappeared.

"If you're trying to undresssss me, angel," the demon half-slurred, half-hissed, "you can just asssssk."

Aziraphale would be lying if he said he had never thought about doing just that. He couldn't quite figure out whether the lying or the thinking about it was a worse sin, but what he knew for sure was that engaging in debauchery with a demon was the worst of the three.

Fortunately, he'd had centuries to come to terms with the idea.

"Maybe later," he said grimly, relying on Crowley's drunkenness to pass it off as a joke. "Come on, you're going to have to sit up for me to bandage your back."

"That'sss not the besssst idea."

"Crowley." He knelt down and tipped up the demon's chin. The yellow eyes met his icy blue ones—glazed with drink and pain, unfocused, confused. Frightened. Aziraphale softened his gaze.

"If I ssssit up," Crowley whispered seriously, and didn't finish his warning because his eyes slid shut and his body went limp. Aziraphale gently lowered his head and let out a shaky breath.

"All right then old boy," he said, though which of them he was talking to was anyone's guess. "Now's the time. No time like the present. Ahem. Got to do this now." Gingerly, he unrolled a section of bandage and crossed it over the wound on Crowley's back.

Crowley shuddered and groaned but did not wake up.

It took nearly an hour of carefully nudging Crowley back and forth, and by the time it was done Aziraphale had drunk himself stupid and sobered up three times from the sheer stress of it, but finally the demon's back was securely bandaged.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale poked at his shoulder. "Crowley, it's over. Please wake up now."

He didn't move.

Sighing, he scooped his arms under his friend, careful not to jostle him too much. Aziraphale was generally opposed to using his angelic powers for anything less than emergencies and assignments, but it didn't seem like cheating somehow when he poured a little divine strength into lifting Crowley like a baby.

The thing was, they were supposed to be enemies. Even after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, they were technically on opposite sides of the great cosmic chess game. That didn't change the fact that seeing Crowley in this condition—and put there by his own side, no less—caused a very real ache in Aziraphale's chest. The usually suave demon was a shaking, tortured mess and it made him want to cry.

In the flat he kept above the shop, there was one neat bedroom. Aziraphale used it on the rare occasions he wanted to sleep for a few days (this usually meant that Crowley had done something particularly demonic or embarrassing and he wanted to get away from him for a while). Now, he carried Crowley up the stairs and through the doorway of the dimly-lit room. Rain still splattered against the window pane as he lowered the demon onto the bedspread.

"There you are, my dear," Aziraphale murmured. His hand stretched out, unbidden, to stroke a lock of dark hair off of Crowley's forehead. "I wish I could do more."

Crowley sighed in his sleep and turned his face into the pillow. Aziraphale watched him for a few moments (Minutes? Hours?) to make sure that he was settled before pulling a blanket from the back of a rocking chair and draping it over his friend's legs. With one last long glance over his shoulder, he shut the door softly behind him.

He needed to find more alcohol before he could even begin to think about this properly.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale stuck his head into the bedroom early the next morning. Crowley lay face-down on the bed, his single wing trailing on the floor. Yellow sunlight from the window striped his bandaged back and he had managed to twist the blanket around his legs, despite ostensibly not having moved.

At the sound of the door opening he slowly rolled his head so that he faced Aziraphale. He gave a feeble smile. "Hello, angel."

"Crowley." Aziraphale couldn't help but grin in relief as he seated himself in the chair by his friend's head. "How—how does it—"

"Like hell," the demon croaked. "I can't move the other one at all, and when I try to sit up it pulls. You're stuck with me for a bit longer, I'm afraid." He let out a humorless bark of laughter.

Aziraphale's expression sobered. "It's not any trouble, you know that. Someone needs to take care of you."

"And aren't I just blessed to receive your divine charity." Crowley sighed. "Come on, Az. I'm the embodiment of trouble."

Something in the angel's chest twinged; the pain must have still been affecting his friend, because he had never heard him use that nickname before. It rolled off Crowley's tongue like he had been calling Aziraphale "Az" for centuries.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I'm not taking care of you because it's my duty as an angel. I'm taking care of you because—because—because I have to."

What he meant, of course, was that their friendship had bonded them together despite their official loyalties. It would have been betrayal not to help a friend in need, and Aziraphale was no traitor to the ones—one—he held dear.

But: "That sounds an awful lot like angelic duty to me."

"Because I _want_ to, then." Aziraphale pushed a hand through his curly hair. "Maybe you don't understand."

"Because I'm a demon?" Crowley grunted through clenched teeth as he tried to push his arms beneath his bandaged torso.

Aziraphale was on his feet in a second, one hand resting on Crowley's shoulder and pushing him—gently, firmly—back down to the mattress. "You need to keep resting." It wasn't a suggestion.

Crowley huffed but relaxed once more. "Fine."

Now returned to their original positions, the two sat in exhausted silence for a while. Crowley's eyes blinked languidly, gold in the morning light. Aziraphale picked at a fingernail.

"Aziraphale?"

"What? Oh, yes? Can I get you anything?"

Crowley shook his head as well as he could, considering that it was still pressed into the bed. "We may need to discuss the Arrangement."

Pinpricks of ice raced along Aziraphale's spine. "Oh?"

"I think my side is done punishing me for what happened. Considering, I think I got off pretty easily."

The same rage that had filled him when he first saw his friend's injury flickered up now. "I DON'T CALL THAT GETTING OFF EASY."

"Calm down, Az. Aziraphale." Crowley closed his eyes against the light rippling off the angel.

"OH, VERY WELL." Aziraphale sighed. "You're worried about further punishment if we continue to associate?"

"No—well, I mean, that is a possibility, but—I've been thinking. You remember when I said you got ineffable mercy and you asked whether I'd seen Gomorrah?"

"I think so. You went off about cocktails."

"My point," Crowley scowled, "is that now I realize you're not safe either. You didn't directly harm anyone on your side, unless you didn't fill me in on all of your adventures, but you still meddled in divine plans."

"But we don't know—"

"I _undersssstand_ that, Azssiraphale! Ineffability! Except we were wrong because here I am. Who knows what could happen to you?"

The angel was stunned. "You want to call off the Arrangement because you're _worried_ about me?"

Crowley flushed. "Call it what you want. I don't want you to go through what I did."

"But we'll be stronger if we work together," Aziraphale insisted, too flustered by the demon's concern to be entirely coherent. "You're still injured; I can keep an eye on you. And then you can keep an eye on me…"

"Are you suggesting that we band together to fight off the armies of Heaven and Hell?"

"Well when you put it like that," Aziraphale trailed off miserably.

"I appreciate you taking care of me, angel. I really do." Crowley shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "I'm just trying to think logically here."

"When has logic ever applied with these things?" Aziraphale leaned forward, knuckles white as he clutched the edge of the bed. "You said it yourself: divine mercy! If my side hasn't done anything to me yet, I think I'm safe, and if Hell is done punishing you, what do we have to lose?"

"Everything."

"I beg your pardon?"

Crowley succeeded in pushing himself up onto his elbows this time, though the effort left him pale and slow of speech. "We could lose everything! How long do you think we have until the next Apocalypse? Another 6,000 years? Another 11? Neither of us is going to be trusted to play a key role next time. How easy do you think it would be for us to 'disappear' when they start again? Or before?"

"That's all very hypothetical." Aziraphale sounded doubtful.

"It's risky is what it is. There are spectators now. We have to play nice."

The angel chuckled darkly. "What you really mean is that we have to play _less_ nice."

"Come on Az! You know we're not really friends. It's not like you're going to die of sorrow because you can't hang out with a demon." Crowley's lip curled.

Aziraphale flinched, but his expression hardened. "Fine. You're right. But—the Arrangement…"

"What about it?"

"Nothing." Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Go back to sleep. I'll be in the shop if you need me."

Crowley turned away as he left.

* * *

As the door shut behind the angel, Crowley's arms gave out. He didn't bother to move them from where they were trapped beneath his chest as he burrowed his face into the mattress.

If someone were listening very closely, they might have heard a muffled word spoken into the bed; a name, perhaps, or an apology.

No one was listening.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Finally done! This has been super fun to write, definitely one of my favorites. I tried to make the ending sweet but if it comes across as a mega cheese fest then let me know and I'll see what I can do.

Otherwise, thanks for reading and please consider leaving a review! Check me out on Tumblr (username athenasdragon) if you want to scream about these husbands with me.

* * *

 **III**

"It's been a blast, angel. Let's do this again some time. Gotta run, you know how it is, people to see and things to do, or is it the other way—"

"Crowley?" Aziraphale looked up in surprise from behind the counter. "You don't mean you're leaving?"

"That's exactly what I mean. Your duty is fulfilled."

Aziraphale came to stand in front of his friend. Crowley's cheekbones stood out even more than usual beneath his sunken eyes. He still wasn't wearing his sunglasses; the angel could see his eyes jumping around the room without ever landing on him. The suit, at least, looked a little better, and Crowley's ravaged wings were hidden once more.

"I can't very well let you go off by yourself again, my dear," Aziraphale protested gently. He didn't mention that he had more personal reasons for wanting the demon to stay. Maybe if he could hold him back just a little longer, he'd reconsider the Arrangement.

"And I can't let you waste any more time on me."

"That isn't fair! You would do the same."

"Would I?" Crowley hissed, rounding on the angel. Aziraphale stumbled backwards a step. "Maybe you've forgotten, _my dear_ , that I am a demon. I don't do _the right thing_. I do what suits me, what suits Hell, and what is the most damning for everyone involved." Despite the harsh words, his voice was strained and desperate. "Why can't you just _underssstand_ that, Aziraphale! You say you see good in me but it's all just a reflection of you. You're deluding yourself."

The books looked on in silence while the two faced off. Despite his small retreat, Aziraphale couldn't help but notice that their noses were only a few inches apart. If he didn't know better, he might have thought that the shimmering at the edge of Crowley's eyes was unshed tears.

Slowly, cautiously, he raised a hand and let it rest against the side of the demon's face. Crowley shuddered but didn't wince away. "You're wrong," Aziraphale murmured. "I didn't help you because it's my job as an angel, or because I think that I can save you somehow. I helped you because you're Crowley. I am your friend." He stroked his thumb across Crowley's cheekbone and the demon exhaled and closed his eyes. "And I know that you would help me— _as you have so many times_ —because you are mine."

Aziraphale leaned in and pressed his lips to Crowley's. Conscious of the pain he must still be experiencing, he wrapped his arms around the demon's waist to pull him closer. There was a strange swooping sensation low in his stomach at the contact and he angled his head with the intention of deepening the kiss.

Crowley made a strangled noise and pulled away. "But you said—"

"I know what you were doing, trying to push me away like that. It was really very sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet."

"I'm not sweet," the demon huffed.

Aziraphale's brow furrowed. "I hope that's what you were doing, anyway. Otherwise this would all be very awkward."

Without breaking eye contact, Crowley snaked a hand up Aziraphale's back and threaded it into his hair. "You were playing along with me?"

"Yes," Aziraphale choked. He found that the delicious sensation of the demon's fingers against his scalp made speech difficult. "I don't want to—to stop the Arrangement. I don't want to lose you."

Crowley darted forward and kissed the angel again. Somehow, against all expectations, Aziraphale had the skills to make his knees go weak. He moaned softly and flickered his skilled tongue against the angel's lips in an attempt at retaliation.

Now Aziraphale broke the kiss, gasping. He scowled at the demon. "That's not fair."

"I don't play fair, angel." Crowley ducked down and pressed the points of his sharp teeth into the soft skin where Aziraphale's jaw met his neck. Just as quickly, he licked across the indentations they left and blew to raise goosebumps. Aziraphale shuddered and pulled back to see Crowley's smirk.

"Does this mean the Arrangement still stands?"

"Well," the demon drawled (rather breathlessly, though he would never admit it), "it might need to be amended slightly. I don't think this situation was ever discussed." The fingers of one hand still played with the hair at the nape of Aziraphale's neck.

The angel groaned. "Perhaps we should take this upstairs."

Crowley started, his hand freezing on Aziraphale's neck, before relaxing and laughing softly to himself. "Oh, you mean _literally_ upstairs. I thought you meant, you know—" And if he didn't quite finish the sentence, it was really very understandable because his mouth was otherwise occupied.

He didn't mind.

* * *

It had started raining again. As far as the two in the bookshop were concerned, it should have been sunny and brilliant, perhaps with a rainbow—but that's the weather for you.

Aziraphale traced a finger lightly over the curve of Crowley's back. "And your wings? They're really feeling better?"

"Well, one of them doesn't feel anything at all." Crowley rolled over with a grunt so that he could speak face-to-face with the angel, who was propped up on a suspicious-looking pillow. "But it does hurt less. You took good care of me, Az. Don't worry."

Aziraphale leaned down to press a kiss on the flushed skin of the demon's shoulder. "I'm glad."

A look of something akin to guilt passed over Crowley's features. "Er, if anyone comes asking about this by any chance…"

"You tempted me into it. Or I was undertaking an experiment on the possibility of Raising demons, depending on who asks." Aziraphale smiled. "I know."

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist and tugged him closer. "Great." He smiled, showing a hint of pointed teeth. "Perhaps you can be tempted a little further…?"

"I don't know, my dear." The angel tucked himself into the hollow of Crowley's shoulder. "Unless you were going to tempt me into sleeping."

"Fair enough."

They lay curled together in the narrow bed. Rain splattered against the window. It was peaceful—the kind of afternoon that called for a nice cup of tea and a book before a fire. For now, though, even Aziraphale was content to forgo his library.

It was a dark and stormy night before long. Somewhere, an eleven year old boy was trying to clean the mud off of his dog's paws before coming inside for dinner. A young couple ate dinner in a small cottage and smiled. A witchfinder examined a rather soggy flower display and considered a purchase.

Here, in London, an angel and a demon slept, legs tangled in blankets and hands tightly entwined. They dreamed of the first storm and all the storms since. If this squall was destined to hit the City that night, it had been destined to do so since that first roll of thunder millennia ago. Maybe they had been destined since then too. It's hard to say.

It was, after all, _ineffable_.


End file.
